


Surprisingly Sentimental

by spacejunkgirl



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Couch Sex, F/M, Pearl likes heartbeats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacejunkgirl/pseuds/spacejunkgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a date, Pearl walks Mayor Dewey home. They end up banging on the couch.</p><p>"She can feel his heart beating; the sensation and concept has always been both unnerving and fascinating for Pearl, though at the moment she finds it amusing, especially given the speed and intensity with which Dewey’s heart is presently raging."</p><p>Fill for the kinkmeme on dreamwidth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprisingly Sentimental

**Author's Note:**

> (x-posted on my tumblr)
> 
> this was a fill for the SU kinkmeme, over on dreamwidth, so x-posted there too. Prompt was "pearl/mayor dewey, first time". I had a really fun time writing this and trying to strike a balance between awkward and sexy, though the jury's still out on whether it's a Good Fill, lol. Still, I like it enough to post it here! Hopefully some people will like it!

Pearl clears her throat, shifting her weight from foot-to-foot as she stands across from Mayor Dewey at the threshold of his house. She has been dreading this moment since the date began, and now that it’s actually come, her mind is jumbled. They stand in uncomfortable silence for several seconds before Dewey speaks.

“A-Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” he asks, loosening the collar of his shirt. “It wouldn’t be any trouble--”

“Oh, no,” Pearl says, too quickly, wringing her hands, “Steven’s probably already asleep and I wouldn’t want to wake him up, and it’s kind of a long walk, and, well--” She clears her throat, frowning up at the darkened light just inside the house. There’s a myriad of reasons not to have him walk her home, of course, but most all of them would necessitate a lecture on the complexities of human-gem history; too much for a simple date. Stomach twisting anxiously, she decides to change subjects. “This was, um, fun,” she says, smiling as his expression brightens. And she does mean it. Despite her aversion to humans in general, she had actually enjoyed herself, and Mayor Dewey had been surprisingly accommodating of her – even her disinterest in eating. She takes a breath to calm herself. “Th…ank you. I enjoyed myself.” She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring and not-at-all awkward smile.

“Well, I enjoyed myself, too!” he says, with a smile just as awkward as Pearl’s feels. To his credit, however, he doesn’t lack for enthusiasm. “Maybe… we can do it again sometime?”

Pearl actually does smile now, dipping her head as she laughs. Humans. So optimistic and opportunistic. It’s a welcome change, she has to admit, to involve herself with such a trivial thing as a date; compared to the intergalactic horrors she’s been agonizing about lately, a bit of lighthearted distraction is nice. And Mayor Dewey isn’t completely insufferable – at least not most of the time. There are even times she’d call him endearing.

“We’ll see,” she says warmly. His eyes brighten up but, thankfully, he doesn’t push his luck. Pearl clears her throat again before he can ruin the moment. “Well, um… goodnight?”

Mayor Dewey sobers, pinches his lips together, and nods. “U-Um, yeah, of course! Goodnight, Pearl.”

There’s a beat. Frogs and crickets chirp peacefully in the distance, audible over the distant summer tide and a neighbor’s clinking wind-chime.

Before Pearl can completely register why she does it, she’s already leaned over and given him a polite peck.

There’s another beat.

… Why had she done that? It had seemed natural. It’s what humans do at the conclusion of dates, right? And why does she now suddenly feel so tingly all over?? His fingers brush against her elbows, and she lets her hands come to rest on his forearms as she tries to regain the equilibrium of her thoughts.

She is half-expecting it, but it still surprises her when he moves that fraction of an inch required to close the distance between them and kiss her again.

She doesn’t immediately recoil, thankfully, because the longer she resists that urge, the more she finds that she doesn’t want to recoil. It’s been a long time since she’s kissed someone, and the sensation is pleasanter than she remembered. Warmer. Softer. More calming and more frantic at the same time, somehow.

She shuts her eyes, letting herself drift. It’s a chaste kiss, but she can feel the tension in Dewey’s arms as she gently squeezes them, and the nervous shaking of his fingers as he bends them around her elbows for support. She steps closer so that she isn’t at such an awkward angle and that seems to make him tenser; she can feel the heat coming off him like a radiator. She wonders if he can feel how warm she is.

Something in her stomach twists as his hands wander from her elbows to her waist, and as his lips move from her mouth to her jaw and neck. She inhales – she doesn’t even need to breathe, really, but it happens out of instinct, or reflex, or something, and she twists her neck to allow him better access. He lets out some sort of noise, half-amusement and half-surprise, his fingertips closing around the dip of her spine.

She exhales this time, sharply, squeezing his arms; he pauses, and then, realizing himself, scrambles away from her like a wet cat.

“Oh! Oh, I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me!” he says, and Pearl pulls her hands away from him to wring them together in front of herself. Warmth crawls up her shoulders and neck, her stomach still doing flips as she replays the last few seconds over in her mind. The places where he kissed her still prickle, like static under her skin, and she has to resist touching them. Dewey’s even redder than usual, looking everywhere but her, his hands on his head. “I’m-you’re so--” He laughs louder than is necessary, and Pearl is shook out of her thoughts. He’s about to continue speaking, but she cuts him off.

“Bill—er, William?” His expression changes several times in the space of one second. She stares at him intently, and he stares back, blinking. She steps towards him, crossing the threshold into his dark house. Tentatively, still staring at him, she grabs his hands and laces them around her waist again, and he swallows. Her skin is too warm, too restless. She grabs the lapels of his shirt and, for a moment, just holds them. They both breathe into the crowded space between them, unsure of what exactly is going on. Pearl is pretty sure this is the longest she’s gone without hearing Dewey blab nonsense. It’s a little bit strange.

“Pearl--” And there he goes, ever the extrovert, “you’re… This is my nice shirt.”

She blinks.

And then she smashes her face against his, pushing him farther into his house, the door creaking shut behind her. He lets out a string of surprised sounds into her hungry mouth, bunching up her shirt into his fists, somehow trying to pull her closer and push her away for air simultaneously. They end up awkwardly moving from the entranceway, around the corner, and into the living room, but Pearl only notices they’ve moved at all when Dewey is forced to stop, half-sitting on the back of a low couch.

Finally he does push her away, gasping for breath. His hair is mussed and his pupils are very dark, and he looks vaguely terrified, as if he thought she was trying to eat him instead of make out with him. He grabs her hands and squeezes them, remorsefully pulling them off his lapels.

“Really, I’m sorry—I just need this shirt for an important meeting tomorrow and I-I don’t want to have to iron it agaaaawh-what are you doing?!”

Pearl pauses, looking up from her fingers currently undoing his buttons. She gives him a sympathetic smile. “Removing your shirt,” she says casually, though the tightness in her voice betrays her wild thoughts, “so you won’t have to iron it again? Orrr is that not what you wanted?”

“No, nono, by all means—”

“I mean, I find ironing calming,” she continues, “but sometimes… I don’t know, sometimes it just…”

“It seems like there’s a thousand other things that need your attention?” Dewey looks absolutely giddy that someone might understand. Pearl laughs, despite herself.

“I guess you would know, being the mayor,” she says. Of course, she is pretty sure she’s had far more experience with ‘a thousand other things that need your attention’ than the mayor of tiny Beach City, but still… the talking is nice. She continues with the buttons on the front of his shirt, humming gently in the absence of a response.

The laugh he lets out as she finishes is surprisingly nervous, especially given that he still has a tank-top on. She pulls his shirt down, letting him shimmy out of the sleeves, and folds it neatly before setting it aside. Dewey stares at it, chewing the inside of his cheek, which strikes Pearl as strangely endearing. She takes a breath and cautiously reaches towards him, pressing her palms flat against his chest. He looks at her. She can feel his heart beating; the sensation and concept has always been both unnerving and fascinating for Pearl, though at the moment she finds it amusing, especially given the speed and intensity with which Dewey’s heart is presently raging.

Pearl steps closer, and his hands snake around her again; now that his nice shirt is gone, he has no scruples about pulling her right into him. She kisses him again, feels his heart beating into her chest. He pulls the sash around her waist loose, and she lets him, and the sensation of his fingers dragging up under the hem of her shirt is like pins and needles and fire in all the right ways.

He moves, and Pearl’s stomach tightens like a wound-up rubber-band as his short fingernails dig into the small of her back and his lips wander down her neck again, all-too-lazily nipping at her skin and leaving her nerves sparking. She looks at the ceiling and smiles wryly to herself, breathing shallow even though she doesn’t need to breathe at all.

She shifts her weight, bringing her hips against his. The air escapes his lungs in a surprised puff, and she laughs as it tickles her. He laughs too, albeit breathlessly. She dips her head, her temple against his, pressing herself flush against him and rolling her hips against his. He shudders helplessly underneath her, and she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit the little rush of power didn’t feel great.

Clumsily, his lips find her neck again, nipping a little more bravely while his hands slide under her shirt and along her bare spine. She snakes her arms around his shoulders and closes her eyes, sighing. It’s wonderful. She rocks her hips again, and Dewey lets out what can only be described as a squeak, though he quickly clears his throat to try and disguise it. He attempts to pull away, but Pearl’s arms are still slung around him, and so he ends up pulling them both backwards over the top of the couch.

Dewey lands on the seat with his legs over the back, having come perilously close to being concussed thanks to the coffee table. Pearl is on top of him, bent backwards awkwardly with her knees in the air.

They both laugh. Pearl slides into a more comfortable sitting position, which leaves her straddling his hips; she can feel his arousal through his slacks and he turns very red as she settles against it. Her breath catches in her throat and her muscles jolt, but she shakes her head and, for the moment, ignores the heat and tension building up in her own stomach.

“Here, come on,” she says, grabbing the front of his shirt and helping to pull him up. He rights himself, leaning comfortably against the back of the couch, looking a little shaken – for several reasons, Pearl assumes. He stares at her, and she wonders if she should move. “What?”

“What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

He swallows hard, blinking, trying to regain some sense of composure. For a moment he is silent, now staring off into the distance as he chooses his words.

“This… is just not how I imagined tonight going, is all,” he says at length. She laughs gently, which seems to put him at ease, maybe because he notices she’s as uncertain as he is.

“Nor I,” she says, scooting closer, both of them shivering as she slides along his lap. “But, honestly? It’s kind of exciting. I’m actually… enjoying myself!”

He smiles, taking a breath. “Oh, me too!”

She bites her lip, letting her hands rest on his stomach. He sets his hands on her knees, so light she can barely feel it; even though it’s an insignificant gesture, it’s somehow comforting. There’s less nervous tension between them now, as the night wears on and baser desires take over. People are different late at night, she knows this – it’s just not often these lowered inhibitions affect her too. But it’s nice to be more at ease, even if it’s only by a statistically insignificant margin (And really, does she care about statistic significance in this instance?)

“I’m… sorry if I’ve seemed distracted,” she says. “There’s just…” she sighs, “a lot going on. But I really did—am—having a nice time.”

He laughs, and though it’s still nervous and breathless and aroused, it rings full and genuine. “I understand!” he says, and then pauses, and then waves his hands. “I mean, maybe I don’t… ‘understand’—” he makes air-quotes, “—all this weird, crazy, space-rock stuff or whatever, but believe me, I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed.” His smile falters as he realizes he probably shouldn’t have admitted that, but it passes. “That’s why delegation and great decision-making skills are so important, right?” Unsure of how to respond, Pearl half-nods. Dewey sighs, flushing, clearing his throat. “I-I’m getting off-topic, sorry. E-Either way, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Pearl knows that’s not true, but she smiles nonetheless. Maybe it’s a silly sentiment, but the simplicity – of just letting something go like that, of being so easily forgiven–is so alluring; she’s starting to understand why Rose grew attached to humans.

She rubs her arms idly until Dewey readjusts himself, sitting up straighter so that their faces are only inches apart. Heat crawls up her neck and she slips her fingers under the hem of his collar, kissing him.

Probably the fact that she’s straddling him has something to do with it, but altogether this kiss feels different than before. She can almost sense his frenetic thoughts, every muscle in his body taut to mirror her own, his hands shaking and clumsy in their need to touch her. He finds the small of her back again, pulling her against him. She gasps, grip tightening on his shirt, fire coiling in her stomach and thighs.

He presses his tongue against her lips, and she hesitantly allows him entrance. Thankfully he does not push his luck, as the sensation is just shy of being too unpleasant. She takes a breath, lingers in the feeling of him very gently sucking on her lower lip, of his hands rubbing against her back, holding her close. His breathing is heavier than before, and when he moves she can feel it on her neck, burning hot. Dewey rocks his hips absent-mindedly, and Pearl arches her back, gasping. She’d grown used to the hardness underneath her, but the shift presses it flush against the apex of her thighs, sliding, the friction sending waves of goosebumps up her body. She sighs, burying her face in the crook of his neck to try and muffle the almost-moan in her breath. He wraps his arms around her, about as far as they can go. He shifts again, and she bites her tongue as that sweet spot is hit again, her toes curling. She feels his chest vibrate with some unheard sound, pressing his cheek against hers.

Timidly, Dewey grabs the bottom of her shirt, tugging on it as a wordless question. She nods, pulling away from him. He pulls it up and over her head, and Pearl realizes how warm she had really been. She slides her hands under his shirt, skimming along his stomach, and has to resist laughing as he melts yearningly into her touch. She continues upwards, pushing his shirt over his shoulders and head so that they’re both in an equal state of undress. He hungrily kisses her cheek and jaw and neck, hands finding her shoulder blades, and she arches her back against him. She closes her eyes and shakily sighs, running her nails over his shoulders. Her thighs burn, her whole body flaring when he rocks his hips again; he dips his head and kisses her chest with frustrating, wonderful slowness, and a soft moan finally escapes her throat.

Dewey pauses, and then attempts to pull away before Pearl throws her arms around his head and hugs him to her chest, too embarrassed to look at him. “Sorry--” she says, though whether it’s in reference to the sound, her inability to look him in the eye, or her smothering him, she’s not sure. Maybe all three. He lets out a goofy laugh and thankfully doesn’t say anything.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer, inhaling. She giggles involuntarily, tensing at the ticklish sensation.

“… Are you sniffing me?”

“You smell good,” he says, tone somewhere between sad and defensive. She considers the situation for a moment.

“Well, thank you.”

He rubs his face against her, which tickles her again (It’s terrible, she decides). She’s grateful when he goes back to kissing her, gentle little pecks over her chest and shoulders. He rubs her sides – his hands seem large to her, but maybe only because she’s so thin – bravely wandering down to her hips and squeezing them. She bites her lip, burying her fingers in his hair, swallowing down the second embarrassing sound that attempts to escape her as he pulls her hips down against his. She pushes down into him as he rocks up; she shudders as electricity shoots through her, as pressure builds in her stomach. They repeat the movement together again, and then once more, falling into rhythm.

The storm in Pearl’s stomach rages, sparking through her limbs, culminating in white-hot pleasure between her thighs; her thoughts are hazy, full of stars and endless space. Every time they move another wave of elation and arousal washes over her. Finally she stops trying to hold herself back, letting herself make a sound, whining as she breathes. Dewey seems to like it, kissing her a little more vigorously.

She’s dimly aware that his lips are on her neck again, and she tilts her head. She slides her hands down his front, raking down his ribs, coming to rest on his belt. He shudders. This time it’s her turn to ask the wordless question, tugging on the buckle a couple of times; he nods, pulling away from her to help.

She half-tries not to look at him, more out of embarrassment than anything; it’s been a very long time since she’s been so intimate with somebody, and never before with a human. Sexuality and sexual expression in gems is so vastly different from humans – and even though this is unfamiliar, it’s enjoyable and exhilarating. In fact, she thinks the unfamiliarity is part of why she finds it so exciting.

At length, she focuses on him, to find him looking at her, his hands poised on his belt buckle. His face is ruddy red, and he looks thoughtful, if a bit troubled.

“What?”

“Um…” He looks away from her. “There are… There aren’t any condoms down here,” he says, his voice rising in pitch. “They’re upstairs.”

“Oh.” She taps her chin. She’d had, in the past, the unfortunate luck to stumble across condoms when Rose and Greg had been… involved, so she is reasonably sure she could materialize one. Though there isn’t any real need for one in this case, she doesn’t object. “Let me try…” She closes her eyes, concentrating. It takes her a couple seconds, but she does succeed in materializing one from her gem, catching it out of the air before it can fall.

She holds it up proudly, sealed package and all. Dewey looks both horrified and fascinated, but decides against asking. Pearl pulls her shoes and socks off, setting them in a neat pile in front of the couch; she takes his shoes and socks off for him, since she is still on his lap, setting them next to hers. When she turns back to him, he hasn’t moved.

“What’s wrong?”

He blinks and shakes his head. “N-Nothing? Nothing’s wrong. I was, um…” He scrunches his face, embarrassed. “I was watching you. You’re just…” She’s not sure, but she thinks he might turn an even deeper shade of red, hunching his shoulders and clearing his throat. “You’re just, very pretty.”

Her cheeks warm.

He coughs. “Anyway.”

Dewey undoes his belt and fly, and Pearl half-stands to both remove her leggings and allow him to takes his slacks and briefs off. She settles back down between his thighs.

She hands him the still-wrapped condom. He pulls it open as casually as he can manage, inspecting it. Satisfied, he rolls it on, adjusting until comfortable. He looks up at her, offering her a rather bashful smile as he palms himself. She watches; he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back a little, brows furrowed.

She crawls forward, pushing into his space, taking him by surprise. His eyes blink open, meeting hers just in time for her to kiss him. Supporting herself with one hand, she lets the other slide down to lay over his, still busy between his legs. He twitches, biting her lip gently; her fingers curl into the couch and into his knuckles. His free hand slides down to the inside of one of her thighs, just brushing the skin there with his fingers, maddeningly close to where she needs to be touched. She shudders as arousal and need twist in her stomach, and half-laughs, kissing him hard and then pulling away with a wet pop.

“Okay?” she says. Dewey nods dreamily.

“Are you?” he asks. She nods back. He squeezes her, and she laughs again, breathily, throwing her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face in the crook of his shoulder. It’s mostly to relieve tension, but he seems to take it as a sign of affection, nuzzling her back. Pearl finds that likes it, doing it again in earnest as she moves to position herself.

She braces against him, hears him swallow again as she lowers herself onto him, feels the muscles in his shoulders tighten. Few shape-shifting adjustments on her part are necessary; although snug, he does not hurt her. Actually, she finds she likes the feeling, even though it’s incredibly peculiar and foreign. She settles, wiggling her hips, and she can almost see physical sparks run up Dewey’s arms as he shivers, all his hair standing on end.

“Good?” she asks, already suspecting the answer.

“Mmmmssso good.” His voice is breathless and low. “Are you?”

She gives her hips a generous, experimental roll. That same white heat from earlier races through her, more intense this time, shooting through her thighs, down her knees, into her toes, which curl into the couch as she gasps gently. She hears him gasp as well, jolting under her.

“Good.”

It takes a couple moments of trial-and-error, but soon they work out a rhythm, rocking into each other in slow, lazy movements. Pearl watches him, still braced against his chest, still getting used to the unfamiliar feeling of him. He seems to be lost in his own little world, his head resting against the back of the couch and his eyes closed, a little furrow between his brows. She closes her eyes too, concentrating. Every time they move a renewed wave of pleasure washes through her, exploding like little fireworks in her head and fizzling down her arms. She likes the feeling of his thighs underneath her, which takes a bit by surprise, but she likes the closeness and the warmth, and the friction when she moves.

Dewey shifts, sitting up and sliding his hands up her arms. She grabs them, laces her fingers through his and squeezes gently, leaning forward to press her mouth against his. He sighs heavily, moving a little faster. She lets his hands go, which he seems very reluctant about, but she wants to feel his heartbeat and his hands wander elsewhere anyway. She presses her hands against his chest, feels his heart hammering. Sometimes it syncs briefly with their rhythm, just for a moment, and Pearl loves it when that happens.

She leans against him. He nuzzles her, tickling her, the movement of his hips becoming erratic for a moment before he regains his thoughts.

She can still feel his heartbeat, now in her own chest, and it’s a nice bonus to the feeling between her legs, which has gone far past “peculiar” and is now settled firmly in “amazing”. She’s at just the right angle now that every move sends those fireworks into her head, sends her stomach into knots, sends goosebumps down her thighs. Her thoughts melt into haze, and she imagines space and endless stars and dusty Technicolor nebulas, so vivid they seem to pulse with every motion, bleeding out into the edges of her mind as she is pushed towards the edge.

She realizes, somewhat embarrassingly, that she is making noise, breathless whining, gasping into his ear, which he seems to absolutely love, if his nails dug into her back is anything to go by. She can make out noise from him, occasional broken fragments of her name, but mostly she feels it vibrating in his chest, and consequently her own. The galaxies in her thoughts stretch endlessly wide.

He moves, completely changing their position. Pearl doesn’t mind, especially since he does all the moving, laying her gently so that her head is resting on the arm of the couch. It’s a bit of an awkward position for him now, with one leg bent and the other on the floor, but he doesn’t seem care or even really notice.

“Comfortable?” Dewey asks, his voice very low and quiet. She nods. She is far more than merely comfortable.

His hands find her sides, short nails raking down them. It’s surprisingly bold but it feels great. And then he hugs her, kissing all over her chest and neck. She lets herself moan, and he moans back, their rhythm turning more frantic and erratic.

Her thoughts turn even hazier, until she can barely recall her galaxies and stars, until all she can think of is the knot of desperate electricity in her stomach, so close to release. Her arms and legs tingle, like boiling water in a pan, and she knows she’s alarmingly close to tumbling over some imaginary precipice.

She pulls him, nestling her face into the crook of his neck, arms around his back. She squeezes her eyes shut, listening to him gasp and pant and moan; something like a laugh bubbles in her chest.

She’s on the edge, and she knows he is too. But she’s closer, and she digs her nails into his shoulder blades, trying to let him know or something, but she suspects nothing intelligible comes out. The ball of electricity in her stomach snaps like a rubber band through her whole body and she is shoved off of that imaginary precipice, climaxing in a sea of burning stars and pink and blue space-dust nebulas. She shudders, hunching into him and then arching back, the laughter from before bubbling up and out of her.

He follows moments later, pushing into her one last time and squeezing her in his arms, pressing kisses against her cheek and moaning low in his chest. His hips sway very slightly as he rides it out, every muscle in his body drawn tight and tense. He relaxes gradually, very reluctantly letting her go, letting out all his breath in one long sigh.

Pearl looks up at him, grinning, still enjoying residual aftershocks as he carefully pulls out, removes the condom, and ties it off. Before he can move, she pulls him back and they kiss for what seems like a very long time, warm and comfortable and damp with sweat. Finally Pearl lets her head fall back against the arm of the couch, tangling her fingers in his hair and staring at the ceiling. His fingers brush along her arm, feather-light. It’s a surreal, sublime feeling, to be so totally relaxed, and to be laying naked on a couch with the mayor, but… she finds that she does not care. She’s comfortable, calm, the last lingering stars fading from her thoughts; she is happy.

She laughs. Dewey shifts to look at her, visibly puzzled, but refrains from asking. She runs her hand through her hair, just laughing for a couple of seconds and enjoying the sensation.

“Ohhh, what am I going to tell the Gems?” she asks. It’s a rhetorical question, sort of. Dewey frowns.

“A-Are you going to get into trouble? Or something?”

“No, no.” She lets her arm hang off the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling, unable to stop smiling. “Well, maybe a little bit with Amethyst, if she ever finds out.” She sighs. “Never hear the end of it…”

They lay for a while in unexpectedly companionable silence. The sun has set outside, and the crickets are audible from inside the house, which is silent except for some unseen clock. As the minutes roll by the air becomes cooler again, and Pearl can feel Dewey’s heart-rate return to normal along with his breathing. Soon after that his breathing slows and deepens, and when she turns she finds him asleep. She can’t blame him. If gems did need sleep, or if sleeping for fun was at all interesting, she might even consider it, splayed on a very comfortable couch with a warm human snuggled up next to her.

She shakes her head. That’s a weird thought, one she’s never had before. More… sentimental towards humans – towards Dewey than she usually allows herself to be. She laughs again, softly, and then pushes herself off the couch and gets redressed.

She nudges him, and his eyes blink open, confusedly focusing on her. When he sees she’s dressed, he sits up. “Sorry, I uh… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I know it’s… a human thing.” He half-smiles nervously as he pulls his clothes back on, still a bit bleary-eyed. He coughs, following her as she makes her way towards the front door. She crosses the threshold to the porch. He watches her, still nervously smiling at her. She smiles back.

“I, um… This was…” She bites her lip, swallowing, her thoughts coming up blank except for the events of the night attempting to replay themselves. She blushes and shakes her head again to get rid of the mental image, trying to focus. “If you… ever needed help ironing, or organizing…”

He grins, looking totally blissful and embarrassed and tired. “I’ll let you know,” he says. She scratches her head, bouncing on her toes a couple of times.

“Alright. Yes. Um… I will… see you,” she says. She takes a step backwards, pauses, and then steps closer to him again, closing the distance between them one more time, for one more quick peck. “Goodnight, Bill.”

She’s already halfway down the stairs before he gathers his wits enough to return the sentiment. “Um--goodnight, Pearl!” he calls after her.

She tries not to grin as she heads back to the temple.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to let me know if you noticed any repeated words or awkward phrasing, especially if it broke the flow! Thanks for reading!


End file.
